


Friendly Meetings

by EllanaSan



Series: Hayffie Aus [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-03-19 18:10:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3619380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllanaSan/pseuds/EllanaSan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Excuse me, Auror Abernathy.” the woman said in a clipped voice that carried everything, from irritation to impatience, except an apologizing tone.<br/>“You’re excused. Go away.” he retorted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Friendly First Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt : AU: Effie is a death eater. Haymitch is an Auror. :3
> 
> I don’t think Effie would ever be a Death Eater. When she starts as an escort, she’s brainwashed into thinking the Hunger Games are a TV show, something that is real but happens outside of her personal sphere – for Capitol citizens it has no more tangibility than when we watch Big Brother on TV, it’s real without being real – and I guess we can draw a parallel Pureblood/Muggle-Born but the two societies are too different and at Hogwarts alone she would have realized just how wrong the Pureblood mantra is (because I can’t see her as anything else than a Hufflepuff with Slytherin tendencies so she would have been exposed to Muggle-borns). Aside for that, I don’t see her joining anything where actual fighting is involved, she is not a physical fighter, she’s good at pulling strings. Besides, Effie isn’t the hate-driven kind. At all. 
> 
> That being said, I thought about it and I figured if we take Book 5 set up (The Order Of The Phoenix), she could, on the other hand, be one of the Ministry fanatics. In my opinion, it’s closer to canon because she would be fully committed to a cause she thinks is right without realizing just how wrong it is. So let’s say she is a loyal partisan to Fudge.  
> To finish that author note that now looks like a one shot of its own, I have to say I really enjoyed writing that AU and wouldn’t be opposed to more prompt in that verse =)
> 
> And now we roll =)

The woman cleared her throat for the third time but Haymitch didn’t look up. She had been standing on the threshold of his office for a good five minutes now and he was wondering how much longer he could make it last. He was leaning back on his chair, his feet crossed on his desk, reading Potter’s exclusive interview in _The Quibbler_. He had believed Dumbledore’s claims since last June and he didn’t doubt the boy’s either, still, he wondered how the _Prophet’_ s editor-in-chief was feeling this morning, having missed such a journalistic opportunity. Knowing Heavensbee as Haymitch did, the man was probably seething and screaming _bloody_ murder against the Ministry’s directives to undermine the boy’s credibility – with good reasons, it had cost him the interview of the century.

“Excuse me, Auror Abernathy.” the woman said in a clipped voice that carried everything, from irritation to impatience, except an apologizing tone.

“You’re excused. Go away.” he retorted.

He hoped it would work.

It didn’t.

The clicking of high heels came closer and prompted him to look up only to be faced with a black pencil shirt and a pink blouse completed with jewelry that must have been worth more than his house and all he had in his Gringotts vault combined. The legs were endless and pretty. His eyes lingered on the perfectly shaped calves for a second before traveling up to pause again on the cleavage – on the small side but still attractive enough that he wished her blouse wasn’t buttoned so high – and finished their trip on her face. She had strawberry blond hair pinned in a complicated bun on her head, she wore artful make-up that made her appearance looked polished but slightly unnatural at the same time – her lips were painted a crimson red and the dark line on her eyelid made her eyes look wider – the eyes struck him for a moment : bright blue.

 _Pureblood_ , his mind supplied easily, or a half-blood who was trying too hard perhaps.

He sighed. “What do you want, Princess?”

The nickname obviously didn’t please her. She scorned.

She was so easy to rile up he had to fight a smirk.

“My name is Euphemia Trinket.” she introduced herself. _Pureblood_ , Haymitch concluded at the sound of her name. “I am Minister Fudge’s personal assistant.”

“Thought that was Weasley job.” he frowned. “Arthur’s kid?”

“If you are talking about Percy Weasley, we both work in very different fields.” she replied harshly and with a face that made him think she didn’t like the young Weasley much.

“I’m sure.” he snorted. “What does Fudge want with me?”

She looked appalled. “ _Minister_ Fudge.”

“Not for long.” he chuckled, waving _The_ _Quibbler_.

“Don’t tell me you believe this… this… _rag.”_ she cringed.

He wasn’t in the mood for a political debate. He finally got his feet off the desk and fished his flask from the first drawer. Aside for the welcome burn of Firewhiskey, he relished the expression of shock on her face. Obviously drinking on the clock was a big _no-no_ for her.

“What do you want?” he asked again.

She pinched her lips. “Your manners are simply dreadful.”

“Does that make you hot in all the right places?” he challenged.

Her eyes widened and a soft blush crept on her cheeks. “This is a sexual harassment remark. I could report you and have you arrested. I doubt you would enjoy Azkaban at this time of year.”

“I don’t know, I hear you can get out of it easily enough lately.” he shrugged. “You just have to have the right pals. Shame I’m more used to put Deatheaters behind bars than hanging out with them.”

“There are _no_ _more_ Deatheaters, Auror Abernathy.” she sighed – the kind of long suffering sigh that one would use with an unruly child. “I am in the Minister’s confidence and I can _assure_ you those are nothing but lies. Sirius Black…”

“Yeah, yeah…” he waved her little speech away. “You came all the way down here for what again?”

She cleared her throat, eyed the chair in front of his desk, obviously pondering how rude casting a _scourgify_ would be, before deciding against it and conjuring a heavy folder that obediently hovered next to her.

“It has come to our attention that you have ties outside the Ministry that could be detrimental to your work as an Auror.” she stated, flipping pages in her folder. “According to our archives, during the last war you used to belong to a secret organization known as the Order of the Phoenix and…”

“I don’t know where Dumbledore’s gone.” he cut her off. “I’ve had no contacts with anyone. I plan on avoiding the new war, sweetheart, I’ve seen enough death.”

“Miss Trinket, _not_ sweetheart. We are aware you had no contact with suspicious people, Auror Abernathy.” she continued without a pause. “You are not being accused of anything. If you were, there would be another Auror standing in my place. This is a friendly meeting, you have to understand.”

“Friendly.” he repeated with unhidden sarcasm.

“ _Friendly_.” she insisted. “Your work as an Auror hasn’t been outstanding as of late and there are rumors about your drinking habits that… Well…” She forced a bright smile on her lips to soften the next blow. “We are willing to overlook those flaws, Auror Abernathy, Minister Fudge isn’t heartless and we understand that there are _circumstances_.”

“ _Don’t_.” he growled in warning. He wouldn’t discussed what had happened to his family with a little Ministry drone like her. He wondered where Fudge found all those brainwashed people ready to believe all the _shit_ he fed them.

She didn’t bat an eyelash. “However, we cannot tolerate you badmouthing the Ministry’s policies. It has been reported by a certain number of people that you were quite liberal in your opinion of Minister Fudge’s…”

“Okay.” he interrupted her. “So what’s the deal? I’m fired?”

The goblin in charge of his bank account wouldn’t be happy.

“No.” she tempered. “As I said, this is a friendly meeting, completely off the record, but the next one won’t be.”

“So that’s a threat.” he snorted, standing up slowly and walking around his desk. “They used to send _threatening_ people for that.”

“Don’t underestimate my wand work, Auror Abernathy.” she grinned.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart.” he snorted, leaning against his desk. “I’m sure you’re very good at _wand_ _work_. The name’s Haymitch by the way.”

She shook her head, looking disbelieving. “I just told you you are susceptible to be fired if you don’t watch your words and you are hitting on me? Are you drunk?”

“Maybe.” He hadn’t bothered to count how many drinks he had downed that day. It was possible he was smashed and hadn’t noticed. When you lived your life more drunk than sober, there was a point you stopped noticing. “You’re blind and your political convictions suck but you’re also very hot.”

She worked for Fudge but it wasn’t like she was a Deatheater – and she didn’t look like the pureblood fanatics kind.

“You are not.” she pointed out. “How long was it since the last time your chin saw a razor?”

He laughed at that but it soon turned into a smirk. “You like the scruffy look. I’m an Auror, I notice things. You’ve been staring.”

“Perhaps I was staring because you didn’t have the courtesy to look at me.” she said but there was a teasing smile tugging at the corner of her crimson lips. “If you will excuse me now, I have other matters to attend to.”

“More people to threaten?” he mocked.

“Goodbye, Auror Abernathy.”

She would have turned away and left if he hadn’t reached for her arm. He didn’t grip, he barely touched but it was enough to stop her. She clearly didn’t have the good sense to be intimidated so he figured it meant she was interested.

“How about a drink later?” he asked.

She batted her eyelashes and looked him up and down with pinched lips. “Perhaps.”


	2. Friendly Second Meeting

“You do that with all the guys you’re sent to terrorize into submission?” Haymitch smirked, looking at the ceiling with a certain amount of satisfaction. That wasn’t how he had planned for his day to go when he had woken up that morning but it was certainly better than staring at the wall in his small decrepit house and drinking himself into oblivion.

“You are an exception.” she answered, stretching lazily before settling back down on the bed next to him. “Merlin knows why.”

He turned his head to look at her, his smirk deepening. She was lying on her stomach, her cheek cushioned on her folded arms and she was looking at him, naked as the day she was born and absolutely not bothered by it. Most women were self-conscious about their body even after sex but not her. He had expected her to wrap herself in her expensive sheets and diplomatically hint it was time for him to go as soon as they were done – after all, he had met her only that morning and she had only agreed on a drink at the Leaking Cauldron, how they had ended up apparating to her place and falling in bed was a total mystery.

“Already regretting sleeping with the drunkard Auror, Euphemia?” he taunted, rolling on his side to take a better look at her. She was beautiful. There was no other word for it. Tantalizing amount of creamy white skin unapologetically offered to his eyes, golden curls tangled from their previous activity, perfect curves that made his mouth water and parts of him twitch as if he was seventeen and not forty… “Won’t brag about this one to your friends, right?”

It wasn’t completely a question and the self-depreciation wasn’t totally an act either. He wasn’t a catch, he was aware of that. He didn’t particularly want to be a catch either. One-night-stands were more than enough for him, he didn’t need anything more than that. He usually avoided sleeping with women who worked at the Ministry – or, at the very least, women who worked for _Fudge_ – but this one… She was different.

And given that everything in her flat looked more expensive than anything he ever owned, that she reeked of money and was so clearly a Pureblood – the kind with an army of ancestors to boost, no less – he wouldn’t have expected her to go for anything less than _a catch_. When he had invited her for a drink, he had meant sex. He hadn’t expected her to accept. Why she had was a mystery. She could have had anyone in the Wizarding World and beyond.

“Effie.” she corrected softly, studying him in the semi-darkness. The curtains were open, the city lights spilled in the room. They were somewhere in central London, he thought.

“What?” he frowned.

“My friends call me Effie, not Euphemia.” she explained.

“And we’re friends now?” he snorted. “A few hours ago you were going to fire me.”

“It was just a warning.” she sighed. “How many time must I explain how warnings work? Do your job like you ought to do it and everything will be fine.”

Annoyance laced her voice and it amused him. She was easy to irritate and he loved pushing people’s buttons.

“You like bossing people around.” he deduced.

“Oh, and now you have me all figured out, now, don’t you?” she huffed. “You think a short meeting and an hour of recreational activity is enough to…”

“ _Recreational activity_.” he chuckled, finally giving in to the temptation and placing a hand at the small of her back. She closed her mouth, watching him with rapt attention. “Never heard it called that before.”

He slowly traced her spine with the tip of his finger, up and down, delighted by the goosebump it left in its wake.

“What would you prefer?” she challenged. “Intercourses? Sex? Screwing? _Fucking_?”

She spat the last word with obvious distaste for the objectionable vocabulary.

His laughter was low and slightly mocking yet it took him by surprise. He wasn’t quite used to laugh anymore. “Yeah, I think _fucking_ covers it.”

His body certainly seemed to think so. It was hurting in some places.

“You have no manners at all, do you?” she asked, lips pursed in amusement.

“It’s what you like.” he accused. “It gives you a thrill.”

“And we are back to you thinking you have me all figured out.” she pointed out.

He brushed the blond strands away from her face, his fingers trailed down her neck and then he took his hand away and shrugged. “Not hard to figure out, you’re an open book : pureblood, spoiled brat with a rich Daddy, over-achiever, ambitious – you’re probably dreaming of becoming the next Minister of Magic – you’re sexy and you know how to use it, confident. And, apparently, you’ve got a weakness for bad boys but not those you perceive as too dangerous, tamed ones – which is where you went wrong by the way, I’m not tamed and I’m very much dangerous.”

It was meant as a threat but she didn’t flinch, she didn’t even bat an eyelash. “Not bad.”

“Yeah, that’s my job, remember?” he mocked. Or it used to be at least, he hadn’t bothered being a proper Auror in some time. “While we’re on the subject, sweetheart… Bringing people you’ve just met to your place right now isn’t really safe. And your wards suck.”

“My wards are on point.” she huffed, clearly vexed.

“Against a regular burglar, maybe.” he shrugged. “Not against a Death Eater.”

“Oh, not this nonsense again!” she sighed. “Haymitch…”

“Yeah, you don’t think You-Know-Who’s back.” He flopped on his back. “I forgot you were stupid.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “The Ministry…”

“Spare me the propaganda.” he begged. “You won’t convince me.”

“Well, you won’t convince me either.” she snapped.

It was the point he should get up, grab his clothes and apparate away. It had been a long time since his last one-night-stand but not long enough that he didn’t remember the rules.

“You were a _bloody_ Hufflepuff, weren’t you?” he asked.

It took a few seconds before she cleared her throat. “I fail to see how this is relevant.”

“Loyalty makes the best people blind.” he commented, sitting up with a sigh.

She sat up too, a frown on her face. “Are you already going?” She briefly bit her bottom lip as if to punish herself for that outburst.

He added another thing to his list : she was lonely.

And what did he have waiting at home but a bottle of whiskey with his name on it?

“You don’t want me to?” he asked, just to be sure.

It was stupid naturally. That wasn’t how it worked. You didn’t _stay_ after casual sex, you left, otherwise it became something else and…

“I would not mind if you wanted to stay here for a little while.” she said, too casually for it to be truly detached.

They both lied back down but she settled closer this time, hooking a leg over his and placing a tentative hand on his stomach. Her breasts were pressed against his arm and it should have been awkward but he felt his body relax. He didn’t know what it was about her but there was something. Maybe she had slipped him a love potion while he wasn’t looking. The thought amused him for a while.

Her fingers found the scarred tissues on his side, her thumb retraced the long gash curiously.

“You’re going to ask?” he prompted after a few minutes.

“I’ve read your file.” she whispered.

She knew the sorry tale then : bad wizards, personal vendetta, his family and his long time girlfriend in coffins, his failure and the heavy drinking that resulted from it.

“Nice bedtime story, right?” he snarled.

She didn’t take the bait. “You were in Slytherin.”

“Your point?” he spat. He wasn’t in the mood for the “all Slytherins were bad” argument.

“It couldn’t have been easy being a Muggleborn in Slytherin.” she ventured.

“It was what it was.” he growled. “Life isn’t easy.”

“I’m just making conversation, no need to get defensive.” she replied.

“You’re making conversation or you’re trying to figure out how I ended up in the Order of the Phoenix and if I’m still in?” he retorted, staring at her. “What’s your angle, sweetheart?”

She looked up, a small frown on her face. “I have no angle. You are paranoiac.”

“Constant vigilance.” he scorned, wondering briefly how Moody was doing. “I need to go now.”

She grabbed his arm before he could leave the bed. Her eyes were pleading. “Haymitch, I have _no_ angle.”

A girl like her _always_ had an angle but he didn’t think it would be particularly wise to point it out at that second.

She didn’t ask if he wanted to see her again sometimes but he could tell she wanted to. He pretended not to notice as he got dressed in a hurry, more than ready, now, to flee the flat. Sleeping with a Ministry drone wasn’t clever, starting _something_ with a Ministry drone – or anyone, really – was dumb. And Haymitch wasn’t dumb.

That particular story ended right then, right there.

He was absolutely sure of himself, absolutely sure of his decision.

That was why it confused even himself when he found himself lurking near her office the following day.

She looked happy to see him, if a little hesitant.

There was nothing hesitant in the way she pinned him to the wall in the supply closet.

Merlin, he was in _deep_ _shit_.

That girl…

That girl, she was something else.


	3. Friendly Third Meeting

She hadn’t been thinking when she had apparated away from the Ministry. In her panic, she had forgotten all about the wards surrounding Haymitch’s house – wards that were so much stronger than the ones around her flat, wards that were impossible to breach. They had been sleeping together for a couple of months, she had only been at his house a few times, the wards weren’t keyed to her, they didn’t recognize her magical signature. She crashed against them.

How she managed not to splinch herself, she would never know.

She bounced back, her body flying in the air, and she was thrown on the ground like a broken doll. She lied on his back, her heart racing so fast all she could do was pant, and staring at the bright stars overhead. She couldn’t have named one. She had never paid attention in Astronomy.

She heard the door being opened, she saw the soft glow of a _Lumos_ , but she remained where she was. She stared at the stars and willed the memory of the greenish hues of the Dark Mark floating above the Ministry away.

She had been young during the last war, barely twenty. People younger than her had died at the time but not her, no. She was a Pureblood, her parents had declared themselves neutral… They had spent some years in Paris, waiting for the conflict to end one way or another… She had lost friends though, countless friends and acquaintances who sometimes visited her in her dreams and called her a coward for running away like no true Hufflepuff ever would.

“Come out of there, you _fucker_!” Haymitch bellowed from the safety of his wards. “You think you can attack an Auror at his own _bloody_ house?”

She hadn’t attacked, she had miscalculated but she supposed she could understand how the wards would have perceived her crashing against them as a threat.

“Haymitch.”

She had meant to call him but it came out as a sob, barely loud enough to be heard. He heard it all the same.

“ _Fuck_!” he spat, running to her without a single thought for his safety. He never lowered his wand though, his eyes never stopped darting around, looking for an enemy, looking for a threat… “You’re hurt? What happened? Did someone did that? Talk to me, Princess.”

She shook her head at each question, trying to stop his growing panic. She tried to sit but he had to help her. She had almost knocked herself out, she realized, she had almost killed herself in her stupid instinctive flee for safety.

“He’s… He’s back.” she stuttered. “I saw him. He’s _back_.”

He frowned and seemed to understand there was no immediate threat. He pocketed his wand, hauled her up without any gentleness – gentleness wasn’t Haymitch’s thing – and dragged her back toward the house. She froze in front of the wards but he muttered a few words in latin and urged her forwards. The wards rippled over her body like a cold wave of water. He didn’t say anything but she just knew she would never crash against them again. They would let her in without question from now on.

It made her want to cry.

“We were called at the Ministry and he was there. He was…” she continued as he steered her to his living-room. “I was _so_ scared. It was worse than a Dementor, worse than… He’s back. Haymitch, he’s back. You were right, you were right all along…”

He settled her on the couch, framed her face with his hands and brushed his thumbs against her cheeks. He was wiping away the tears she couldn’t hold back.

“Haymitch.” she sobbed.

“I know. I got a message.” he replied. “I need to go to the Ministry. All hands on deck. Shacklebolt needs all the Aurors available.”

He waved his wand and she watched as a bottle of liquor poured a large amount of firewhiskey into a glass.

“You shouldn’t drink when you’re on the clock.” she remarked.

“That’s not for me.” he said, handing her the glass. “Stay here tonight. It’s safer than your flat.”

She reached for his shirt instinctively, bundling the fabric in her fist. “Don’t go.”

He sighed but crouched next to the couch so he could look at her in the eyes. “You will be safe here, sweetheart.”

“You won’t.” she argued. “What if there are still Death Eaters at the Ministry? Or on Diagon Alley? So many people died last time, Haymitch… So many Aurors… I don’t want you to die. I don’t want you to…”

He pressed a kiss to her mouth, effectively putting a stop to her rant.

“Stay here.” he ordered one last time.

He was gone through the Floo before she could protest again. She kicked her heels and huddled against the armrest, wishing he would come back already. How wrong had she been? How blind? She had mocked him time and time again for his belief that Dumbledore wasn’t simply a crazy old man who trusted an imaginative disturbed child… She had refused to listen to his warnings. They had argued and fought about it again and again but it had all been a game to her. She liked it when they argued, she liked it when they fought. It made her blood hot in her veins, it made the sex more thrilling… Haymitch was rough and dangerous and she loved it because she knew that as dark as he sometimes was he would never hurt her. She trusted him with her body. She obviously should have trusted him with the rest as well. Because he had been right. She had worked for the wrong man all along. She had supported the Ministry, she had supported Fudge, but everything they had done in the last year had made it easier for the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters to come back…

She nursed her drink, sipping from it slowly, letting the familiar burn of the firewhiskey warm her.

Was he safe? Was he fighting? In danger?

She wasn’t supposed to care or run to him in trying times. They weren’t a couple, just two people having occasional fun together. They weren’t dating, they never went out, they never did anything other couples did… Her friends only knew she was sort of seeing someone but she had never mentioned him by name. They had never discussed what they were.

Yet her life without him would be sad and empty.

Even now, the thought that he could be in a life and death situation was making her sick to the stomach. She wanted to help. But how? She excelled at Charms but her Defense was lacking. She hadn’t even pursued it past her O.W.L.s. She wasn’t a fighter. Not in that sense.

She placed the empty glass down, letting her blue eyes wander around the room. She was more familiar with his bedroom than the rest of the house. She noticed some Muggle appliances, wondered what they were, but after a few seconds all she could see was the dust covering everything and the numerous empty bottles lying here and there.

The first vanishing spell passed her lips without her thinking about it. The second was more assertive. By the third, she was standing and pointing at particular clutter of old soiled newspapers.

She wasn’t a fighter but she excelled at Charms and she needed to do something.

Her parents had houselves and she sometimes borrowed one to do her cleaning but when she had moved out, she had decided to be independent and that included doing the cleaning, the laundry and all those little things by herself – except the cooking, she couldn’t cook to save her life. She didn’t pause to think about what he would say when he would come back to find his house scourgified from floor to ceiling. She needed something to keep busy so she worked. Magic made it too easy. She finished the living-room and started on the kitchen and when she was done there, she moved on to the next room.

Dawn had come and gone since a few hours when she collapsed on his bed, burying her face in his pillow and breathing his smell in. It was some time before she heard the Floo being activated downstairs and a few more minutes before she heard the creaking of the stairs.

“Played the house-elf, did you?” he snorted, leaning against the doorframe.

He looked worse for the wear. His shirt was torn at the shoulder, he had a bruise on his face and there were heavy bags under his eyes but he looked otherwise alright. _Alive, alive_ , a voice sang in her head and without further ado, she bolted from the bed and into his arms. He immediately wrapped her in a hug, pressing a kiss against her neck.

“We need to talk security measures, sweetheart. I could be anyone under Polyjuice. You never stopped to check.” he chided her.

“You’re you.” she countered. “I know you are.”

“You _can’t_ know. That’s the point of Polyjuice.” he argued.

“The wards wouldn’t have let anyone else in.” she pointed out.

“How do you know?” he grumbled, forcing her to draw back just enough that he could meet her eyes. “I just keyed them to you. Who says you’re the only one I keyed them to? Maybe there are other people I would trust to come and go. Maybe one of them is a traitor who killed me and took my face. Maybe you’re in danger right now because you never stopped to _check_. We’re at war now, Princess. You need to be more careful.”

“I know you are you because only you could be _that_ insufferable, Haymitch.” she retorted.

His lips twitched in a smirk. “Yeah, well… We still need a code. That’s basic safety measures. We need a code to be sure we are who we say we are.”

“I didn’t know where I was going when I apparated from the Ministry.” she whispered. “I was just so… _terrified_. I didn’t decide to come straight here, I just… did. I wanted to be safe.”

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Her fashionable bun was in such disarray she had given up on salvaging it.

“Let me sleep a couple of hours and I will stop by your place on my way back to the Ministry.” he said. “I will strengthen your wards and add a few more layers.”

“I would appreciate it, thank you.” she nodded. “Although it wasn’t what I meant. It wasn’t your wards I wanted, it was you. I wanted the safest place on Earth and I came to _you_. That can be my code. You can ask me where the safest place on Earth is. Most people impersonating me would probably answer my parents’ estate. They have all those fancy wards and magical winged dogs and hit wizards guarding the property…”

His grey eyes flickered with something she couldn’t identify.

It occurred to her maybe her confession was too much too fast. Haymitch was commitment phobic, terrified of anything resembling feelings and tended to put distance if she pushed too much. He always came back though. He was the one who stormed out more often than not, swearing he was done with her, but he always came back.

“The first time we slept together.” he declared.

“I’m sorry?” she frowned.

“That’s _my_ code.” he told her. “You will ask me when I knew you wouldn’t be just another fling and I will say the first time we slept together. ‘Cause you’re a pain in my ass and a resilient one at that.”

She was surprised he was willing to admit they were more than casual lovers.

She wasn’t surprised when he kissed forcefully with an almost brutal hunger, as if he wanted to counter the softness of his previous declaration.

She let him nudge her to the bed, content in the knowledge that as long as they were together, they would be alright.

 

 


End file.
